An Officer and a Dragon
by Eyes Wide Open 2010
Summary: This story is my tribute to the epic work put forth by Norwesterner titled "Taming a Heart: Legacy of Myth", the third story in his "Taming a Heart" series. It is my take on the Officer Candidate School training of Spring Ýsa, a Night Fury and the adopted son of Dr. Lance Hyse who is a direct, modern day descendant of Hiccup Haddock III. AU/OC
1. Vienna

Disclaimer: I do not own "How to Train Your Dragon" or any of the characters in the movie presented by Paramount and DreamWorks Animation, or in the novels written by Cressida Cowell. This story is my tribute to the epic work put forth by Norwesterner titled "Taming a Heart: Legacy of Myth", the third story in his "Taming a Heart" series. I found this saga engaging and frankly, I could not think of any additional ways of praising this work that would not degrade into platitudes. With his publication of Chapter 51 earlier in 2014, this story is the culmination of my take on the training of Spring Ýsa.

This is for my wife **Ochie.**

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Chapter 1 – Vienna

Washington is considered the most powerful city in the world. But this power is based on the work of many people who have myriad ideas of where to live. Those who desire land must be willing to travel greater distances to their employ. Others look for quality schooling for their children, while others consider the culture or night life. Suburbs surrounding the capital cater to these desires and tastes of those who work in or near the city.

The town of Vienna is an instance of such a suburb, a town that provides shops, cafes and other establishments typical of suburban America. Some institutions exist to provide an escape from the everyday drudgery of life and work and an inn present in this town is such an example. The outside of the establishment, located in the downtown area, is shod in white siding with window flower boxes filled with geraniums hanging from each of the double hung windows painted to match the color of the siding. The whole effect gives the appearance of a tidy office for one of the trades, such as a plumbing, an HVAC or electrician company. The number of cars present in the parking lot belied the actual purpose.

That may be the case before one enters the inn.

Once inside, as one becomes accustomed to the dim lighting, a visitor is provided a vista of unvarnished and worn wood floors where patrons discuss the issues of the day. The noise from the conversations going on compel individuals to lean into each other, not to be intimate but to ensure that they are understood. Booths constructed of sanded, unvarnished wood line the outer walls of the inn. Wide enough for two, each booth sports a table topped with faded Formica adorned with a pattern of flecks embedded into the resin, worn down to its brownish substrate. A melamine ashtray sits next to the usual items found on café dining tables; napkin holder, glass salt and pepper shaker, bottles of ketchup and mustard.

This was an era where smoking was still allowed, not completely outlawed from public businesses. The aroma of tar and ash was omnipresent inside the establishment and those who were sensitive could not really enjoy the gourmet dining or fine selection of lagers and pilsners. In fact, it was quite possible that they would be affected by the third-hand smoke.

The proprietor of the inn, Joe, chomps on his cigar as he casually chats with one of the regulars. Joe graduated from the CIA, the Culinary Institute of America, and even though his current fare at the establishment ranges from chili-dogs to chili-macs, he realizes that the purpose of running any business is to make money, continuously. The fare may be somewhat down to earth, but the camaraderie and the inherent intimacy are what make people want to come back as regulars. It is the place 'where everyone knows your name'. Joe displays the usual loss in the fitness wars with a waistline in the forties, inches that is. Clean shaven, and half-rimmed glasses perched on top of his balding, dark hair completed the picture of someone definitely comfortable with himself.

The other patrons at the bar were an eclectic mix of Washington society. White collar, blue collar, no collar; it didn't matter what your status or profession was. This inn made no pretense in that regard. Government bureaucrats from the various alphabet agencies, contractors who worked with the same bureaucrats, scientists, accountants, executives, plumbers, electricians, and mechanics, all were present in their own cliques inside the inn. The draft beer present from the taps at the bar situated in the middle of the inn was constantly flowing, providing a liquid respite for those who paid regardless of their standing.

A gentleman present at one of the booths takes a long drag on his Camel cigarette, placing the smoldering stick in one of the notches present in the cracking, yellow ashtray. Nicotine stains present on his fingers were a close match to the color of his light brown complexion while his hands showed the telltale wear of someone used to physical activity. He wore a pressed, button down white shirt with sleeves rolled halfway up, blue jeans matched the cleanliness and care present in the shirt. He stared through the window adjacent to the table, peering outside at nothing in particular while the chili dog and cold frosty mug of draft beer waited for his attention. Some time passed before a man in his forties approached. It was evident that he had a good paying job as he was sporting a Brooks Brothers two piece, charcoal suit with crisp white shirt and gray tie. Trim, white complexion, clean shaven with close cropped auburn hair finished his appearance.

"Gene! I am so glad you could make it here. How have you been doing?" The man in the suit stuck out his hand, waiting for the warm, firm shake that the gentleman in the booth always provided.

"Well, well…if it isn't 'Kaiju' Bob Williamson," Gene replied as he reflexively shook the visitor's hand. "Have a seat."

Bob took a seat opposite from Gene, unbuttoning his suit to be more comfortable. The delay gave Gene a chance to finish his dinner followed with a swig from the mug. "Gene, you know I've asked you to not call me that," Bob mentioned to Gene in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Not in public."

Gene smiled. It was so easy to get Bob upset. "I know, I know. You know damn well no one else can probably hear what we're saying anyway. So what the hell did you call me for?"

"Well, first of all I want to know how you are doing after Jill's passing. It's been a year?" Bob asked with some concern and care in his tone.

"I'm doing fine," was the curt reply. Gene returned to staring out the window into the parking lot. Shadows were beginning to lengthen, indicating an end to another fine spring day.

"You know that 'fine' stands for—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what it stands for, you little twit," Gene grumbled as he looked back to his guest.

Bob was not completely surprised by Gene's reaction. "Do you still miss her?"

"What do you think?" he replied, his voice breaking.

"I'm sorry." Bob reached out with one hand to pat the clinched fists of Gene as he sat rigidly in his seat, staring at what remained of his dinner.

"No kids, no family, no wife…I have nothing." Gene's face was a rigid mask that belied his internal torment. He pulled his hands back and placed them in his lap, somewhat conscious of accepting any appearance of comfort from another man. Gene gave a bitter laugh as he looked squarely at Bob. "Yeah…it's been a year…and I still miss her."

Bob was reticent to show the ex-Marine any additional comfort; it was something that would not be expected. "Look…I know that you have been through a lot. You know we're good friends and I'm just doing what I can to look out for you."

A bitter grin settled on the face of Gene as he continued to stare at the remains of his dinner. "I thought I would have been over her death by now," he said as he looked up to the heavens. "Married forty five years and serving almost as long in the Marines…hell…I just thought that there would be more to life than just sitting around waiting to die."

Bob looked at his friend, trying to gauge how what he would say be taken. "What do you want in life?"

Gene looked down and met the determined gaze in Bob's eyes. "I'm not ready to die…I don't want to end up being wheeled around in a nursing home with attendants having to change my diaper every two hours… I still want…to make a difference in the world. That's what I want," Gene said with conviction. He knew that Bob was a good friend and was true to his word, even though he was CIA; that is, Central Intelligence Agency.

Bob smiled at what he heard. "Okay. Good. Then I would like your help. I want to get this out on the table right now."

"What…are you getting me into?" Gene rolled his eyes before he replied sarcastically to Bob's request. "I have heard about some of your cockamamie schemes—"

Bob held his hand up in the air. "I am only an analyst, and that's all I can say."

"Right. And I'm the goddamned Tooth Fairy…" Gene replied sarcastically. He noticed then that Bob wore a pin on the lapel of his suit. It wasn't an American flag. "What the hell is that?" he asked while pointing at Bob's lapel.

Bob looked at what he was pointing at. "Oh…this," he said while he carefully removed the pin from the lapel. "This was a gift from a very dear friend of mine, Doctor Lance Hyse." Bob handed the pin over to Gene. It was a lapel pin fashioned in the form of a coat-of-arms, blue in color. What caught Gene's curiosity were the objects in the coat-of-arms; apparently a rider perched on the back of a maroon, winged dragon. The dragon was four-legged, standing on the ground and gazing to the left. The rider had a sword but it was sheathed.

Gene raised an eyebrow at the mention of the name. "Isn't he the President of the nation of Berk or something?"

Bob smiled, "Well his actual title is Chief, and his ancestry line dates back over a thousand years to one of his predecessors, Chief Hiccup Haddock the Third. They actually have writings that date back to Hiccup's time."

"What the hell kind of name is Hiccup?" Gene asked, somewhat skeptical of what Bob was saying. "I mean the only Norse history I recall is that of Leif Erikson and Saint Olaf."

Bob smiled. "Well, Lance loaned to me one of their journals that covered the life of Hiccup. I had it translated into English so I could have a fuller understanding. I was quite impressed with what Hiccup was able to accomplish."

"Really?" Gene questioned.

"Yes, really," Bob replied.

"So what the hell does this have to do with me?"

Bob smiled, "Lance...wants to put some of their best and brightest through an Officer's Candidate School to prepare them for four years at Oslo at a Norwegian military academy. He knew about the OCS of the United States Marines and asked if I knew of anyone. I naturally thought of you. The Marines are considered the best disciplined, best trained warfighters in the world. They are highly regarded by everyone, especially by the Chief and the King."

It was now Gene's turn to smile. "Naturally," he replied. "So what the hell do you want from me?"

"I want you to train these new recruits. We want to find out also what they are capable of. Both Oslo and Berk expect that whoever is found to lead in the training do so with an open mind and provide the most thorough training in three months that is possible."

Purpose. An opportunity to make a difference in people's lives…again. That is what Gene believed he was given. One more shot. 'An open mind', Gene thought, 'what was meant by that?' "So if I accept this little soiree, what is expected of me?"

"You would be flown to Oslo for a brief orientation before proceeding to Bodø then to your final destination. You would then have two weeks to prepare a curriculum for the candidates. That would need approval from the Chief.

"Two weeks, to prepare a curriculum? That does not give me a whole lot of time."

"We'll have whatever resources you need at your disposal. The Gerhard Corporation is also picking up the tab for costs," Bob added as he retrieved the lapel pin that Gene placed on top of the table.

"Who the hell are they?"

"They are a part of the Barony that oversees the finances of the state of Berk, in layman's terms."

Gene looked thoughtful for the longest time. He knew that it would be a challenge, but that is what would make this fun! Gene felt something that he thought he would never feel after his wife passed.

He felt happiness.

"Okay," Gene said as a smile broke out on his face. "You've piqued my interest …What's next?"

"Well, that's a switch…"

"I can also tell you to go 'pound sand' and walk the hell out," Gene said, somewhat halfheartedly. He was interested in seeing where this would go but it was so much fun to pull Bob's leg.

"Well, what do you want?" Bob now said nervously.

"Hell, I'm in. Don't make me regret this, you young whippersnapper," Gene replied with a wry smile.

"I love it when you use all those dated terms. It really helps me broaden my vocabulary," Bob replied with his own smile, somewhat relieved that this appeared to be moving forward. "I'll need you to come by headquarters tomorrow morning for a full indoctrination and briefing. How does ten o'clock sound?"

"Let me consult my appointment book. Oh, I'm free at that time. How about that?" The sarcasm was dripping from Gene's voice.

Bob looked at Gene, perplexed as to how to answer. "Sooo…are we on for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we're on," Gene replied. Smiling felt good again.

"Good," Bob said as he got up to leave. "Oh, make sure you bring your passport with you."

"Should I ask why?" Gene said with some trepidation.

"Well, if things work out we could have you on a flight tomorrow."

Gene thought about that for some time. He could understand the necessity for getting everything in place prior to the new school year. He was usually in more control of his environment.

"Alright, I'll pack my toothbrush too," Gene replied as he held out his hand. "Thanks Bob."

Bob looked at Gene's hand before taking it in a firm handshake. "You sir, are welcome." After releasing their hold, Bob took his leave by the main street exit.

After 'Kaiju' Bob left, the retired Marine sighed before he reached into his back pants pocket and removed a folded envelope he previously opened. He pulled the letter from the envelope, unfolding it, and began to read.

_Department of Veterans Affairs_

_Washington, DC 20420_

_Dear Sergeant Major Smith,_

_Thank you for your interest in participating in the upcoming tests on the effectiveness of the retro-viral treatment for Acute Myeloid Leukemia. However, as pointed out in our pre-requisites for selection, your age disqualifies you from this particular test. We will keep your information in our records if at some future time you would be a better match for these clinical experiments._

_In the meantime, your current diagnosed condition does qualify you for hospice care in the Washington, DC metropolitan area. A list of VA approved hospice care centers are provided in the attachment with this letter._

_Thank you for your interest._

Sergeant Major Smith stared at the paper for the longest time; hoping, wishing that some change could take place in what he saw in those words. He knew that the decision was made.

Sergeant Major Smith took the letter, neatly folding it into thirds before tearing it up. He got up and after leaving a twenty dollar bill on the table for a ten dollar fare, threw away the torn letter in a trash bin before walking out the door.

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Thanks for reading.

Reviews are appreciated


	2. Langley

Disclaimer: I do not own "How to Train Your Dragon" or any of the characters in the movie presented by Paramount and DreamWorks Animation, or in the novels written by Cressida Cowell.

This story is my tribute to the epic work put forth by Norwesterner titled "Taming a Heart: Legacy of Myth", the third story in his "Taming a Heart" series. It is my in-depth look into the training that Spring Ýsa had to endure in order to prepare for the Royal Norwegian Naval Academy.

This is for my wife **Ochie.**

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Chapter 2 - Langley

The gray Chevrolet Caprice traveled north on Chain Bridge Road, caught in the flow of traffic heading to the offices stretching from Vienna to McLean. It was nine o'clock and rush hour was winding down with late arrivals taking advantage of the shorter waits at each traffic light. Sergeant Major Smith cruised at a leisurely three miles an hour, releasing the brake on his car to drift with the stream of vehicles to the next intersection. From the Capital beltway he knew it would take at least thirty minutes to get to his destination.

He had time.

Once he was inside the beltway, the pace of the traffic picked up as the gray Caprice continued on its northerly trek. More traffic lights, then finally past McLean before he made the turn into the main road for the headquarters complex. A security gate and guard house in front of him meant that he had to present his credentials. The guard stepped out of the house as the car came to a complete stop, looking at the sticker and decal that graced the windshield of the Caprice. It showed Sergeant Major Smith's status as retired USMC and his rank.

"Good day, sir. Who are you here to visit?" the security guard asked.

"Eugene Smith here to see Bob Williamson," Gene said in the neutral tone normally used in this situation. He gave the guard a polite smile. It was always good to smile and show respect to people in authority.

"Driver's license, sir?" the security guard asked as he held out his hand to receive the laminated card.

Gene handed over his identification as he patiently waited for the guard to return from the enclosure. After several minutes the guard exited and presented Gene with his driver's license. "Thank you sir for waiting, please proceed to the complex straight ahead and enter the visitor's center to obtain the appropriate passes." With that, the guard provided Gene with a sharp salute. "Semper Fi, Sergeant Major!"

Gene smiled when he heard that. Semper Fi. 'Always faithful' is and always will be the slogan of the Marine Corps. He gave the guard a crisp salute before he took his foot off the brake on his car and slowly moved forward to the parking lot set aside for visitors to the CIA, settling on an empty spot at the far end away from the main door. It allowed Gene to get some exercise and helped to cut down on door dings. Gene walked through the doors to the visitor's center and was presented with the usual configuration; similar to a bank lobby. A table present in the middle of the room contained slips of paper; forms that a visitor would fill out to begin the badging process. The forms always asked for the same information; name, address, phone number, nationality, the person to see, the phone number of the person to see, the reason for the visit. After going through the process, by rote, Gene approached one of the attendants, a petite young lady, handing her his filled out form as well as his driver's license.

"If you could sir, I need to have you stand in front of the camera to take your picture," asked the petite young lady behind the counter. A Polaroid instant camera was mounted to a tripod on top of the counter. A blue piece of tape on the gray linoleum floor provided the correct distance from the camera to the subject. Gene repositioned himself to stand behind the blue line and waited for the young lady to take a snapshot, which the young lady proceeded to do. "Please have a seat, sir," the young lady said. "I will contact Mister Williamson and let him you know that you are here."

"Thank you," Gene said before he walked over to a line a chairs set against the far wall of the center. He sat down and waited, seeing the usual array of art and displays highlighting the various milestones and accomplishments of the organization. Several other people were present in the lobby, waiting to be processed or like Gene, waiting for their sponsor to arrive.

"Gene! Glad you could make it!" Bob said as he entered the visitor's center. He held out his hand for the usual warm handshake Gene always provided. Gene obliged Bob, taking his hand and giving it several good shakes.

It was ten o'clock.

"Sir, I have Mister Smith's badge and supporting identification," the young lady said behind the counter. Bob looked over to the lady before walking over and picking up a laminated badge with a lanyard and Gene's driver's license. The laminated card had Gene's name and the previously taken snapshot picture on it. Gene took his badge and placed the lanyard over his head. Bob wore his own badge as well, a different color to indicate his status within the organization. He motioned for Gene to follow him.

"Come on," Bob said. "I'll show you what this is all about." They continued walking into the main hallway of the agency, past the memorial to those killed in the line of duty through various other lengthy corridors before arriving at a section of offices. People present in the offices and in the hallway would look up as the duo passed by. Usually they would give Bob a smile or say 'Hi' as they passed. Bob would graciously return the greeting as well with the typical courteous hallway protocol. Eventually they came to an empty office; Bob entered first, followed by Gene.

The office had a single wooden conference table situated in the middle of the room. Six leather high back office chairs were present around the table, three on each side and three ashtrays were strategically positioned in the middle, available to those who needed a nicotine fix. Acoustic tile adorned not only on the ceiling but was installed on each of the four walls down to the chair molding. The door was most interesting; made of wood and at least six inches thick, completely covered by acoustic tile on the interior portion of the door. The door also sported a combination lock similar to those found on safes on its exterior while a steel handle was present on the inside allowing any occupant to easily leave. Lighting was provided by an array of four fluorescent tubes present in the ceiling but one thing that seemed to be missing was any visible ventilation.

"Mister Williamson, I have the paperwork you requested," a middle aged gentleman approached Bob holding a locked satchel.

"Thanks Ed," replied Bob. "Just leave it here on the table." The gentleman deposited the satchel on top of the table before he turned and left the room. Bob closed the door behind them, an audible thump emanating from the door. Music started playing from unknown locations at a low volume to cover any conversations in the room.

"Okay," Bob said. "Gene, I want to thank you again for coming out here today. You don't know how happy I am that you are even considering this."

Gene smiled as he reached into his pocket to take out his packet of Camel cigarettes, tapping the top to allow one cigarette to pop out from the pack. "Want one?" Gene held the packet out to Bob with one cigarette sticking out from the top.

Bob shook his head. "No, I gave it up about some time ago." Bob took the satchel and used his fingers to turn the five discs on the combination lock embedded in the top. He then took and removed the zipper pull tab secured into the combination lock, pulling the zipper and opening the satchel. Bob looked inside the case and retrieved several folders, each one striped in different colors indicating their security classification. Bob opened up one folder to scan over its contents. "Ah good, this is the one I want to start with."

"What is it?" Gene asked as he took a lighter from his pocket, moving the strike wheel several times to eventually create a flame from the vaporized liquid in the container. He brought the lighter flame to the cigarette tip and took a few drags to create a burning ember on the end.

"Indoctrination papers for a special access program," Bob replied. "Why don't you review this first and then we can get down to business."

Gene took the papers from Bob and started to review them. He immediately looked back at Bob with what he saw at the top of the page.

_SPECIAL ACCESS PROGRAM-NIGHT FURY_

_This codeword program is executed for use in NATO countries only. Inprocessing under this agreement requires the explicit permission of the Chief of Berk._

_The codeword may also be abbreviated as (SAR-NF). All relevant paragraphs, lists, figures, tables and appendices related to this program will also be marked in this fashion._

_The state of Berk is a classified NATO ally located in its entirety within the country of Norway. Military operations performed on behalf of the state of Berk are conducted through Norwegian military facilities._

_By signing this document, signatory agrees to abide by the rules and regulations associated with this program as outlined in section two (2) of this document. Failure to abide by these rules and regulations can result in immediate imprisonment at a facility under the guidance of the Chief of Berk._

_Name: Eugene Thomas Smith_

_Signature: __

_Agrees on this date to abide by the terms and conditions stated in section two (2) of this document._

_Date: May 14, 1991_

"You're kidding? What the hell is this about?" Gene asked somewhat skeptically.

Bob looked over to Gene and smiled. "This program was created to allow me and a few others here to have formal contact with my friend Doctor Lance Hyse, his wife Roana, their daughter Hope and son Spring. Spring is really interested in going to sea so Lance wants him to try out for the Royal Norwegian Naval Academy."

"Spring…weird name for a kid," Gene said as he continued to leaf through the paperwork. "Well nothing here seems too unreasonable. I need to read this before I sign my life away."

"Fair enough," Bob replied. "You want some coffee?"

"Yeah, black."

Bob got up and opened the door enough to allow his head to be seen in the office space. "Ed, can you get us some coffee, one black and mine with the usual? Thanks." He closed the door and returned to his chair next to Gene.

"Why do they want the kid go through this? He could go through the usual Norwegian processing for the academies?" Gene asked.

Bob looked sideways, thinking how to answer the question. "Since…Berk was isolated from the rest of civilization, it was deemed necessary to have any student from Berk go through a vetting process before they are allowed to go to the academy of their choice."

"So in some ways they're like the Eskimos, or Inuit?" Gene questioned, trying to determine the reasons for this additional complexity. "So how does this tie in with the Gerhard Corporation you were telling me about?"

Bob thought again about how to best answer. "They are…descendants of Berk who work on the outside to maintain the island in the desired isolated state. Think of the Berkers as Amish and they have BMW as a financial backer."

Gene laughed at his image of Amish driving around in a 328i station wagon towing a horse trailer. Several sects of Amish, he recalled, did live a very basic life style; one that they chose. Some Amish even allowed themselves to have some creature comforts like indoor plumbing and electricity while others even had telephones. Each sect had their own rules. He also remembered that Amish would reach an age when they were given a chance to live on the outside. Choice was important to them.

A doorbell chime went off about five minutes later that prompted Bob to get up and open the door. Two Styrofoam cups of coffee were handed to him. "Thanks, Ed," he said before he closed the door. He placed the cups on the table and sat back down. After handing the cup marked BLACK to Gene, Bob gave him all the time he needed to read the sheaf of papers.

"What the hell is this stuff about immediate imprisonment? What are they, back in the middle ages or something?" Gene asked somewhat incredulously. Who would have thought that someone could be imprisoned without a jury trial and left to rot in a cell?

"A SAP allows for the creation of rules as loose or as stringent as deemed necessary by the sponsor. In this case it is the Director at the behest of the Chief of Berk," Bob explained to Gene. "And yes in some ways things associated with this program can be considered medieval." Bob was wearing a sly grin. "And yes, the DNI is read into this program as well."

Gene gave a questioning look to Bob before he continued reading. An hour passed before Gene asked about the "memory erasing drugs? What the hell is that about?"

"Ah yes. If a spillage occurs then one of the steps taken to mitigate any disclosure is the use of Propranolol. It's used to treat conditions such as stage fright, migraines, and PTSD. We've tweaked it a little to allow for erasure of memories and we can dial in the desired amount of time of erasure."

"Really?" Gene asked somewhat skeptically.

"Yes, really," Bob replied.

"What other surprises do you have for me, you young whippersnapper?"

"Nothing that I can think of before you sign that piece of paper," Bob said. "As I said last night, I thought of you when Lance asked me if I knew of anybody that could train these recruits. I can honestly say that you are a perfect fit for what they need in a consummate drill instructor. I can also say you won't be put in harm's way."

Gene looked skeptical despite the reassurances. "What the hell. You only live once…" He took the sheet of paper. "You got a pen?"

Bob smiled at Gene as he reached into his jacket and produced a Cross ball point pen. He handed it to Gene.

"If you can initial each page of section two that would be good too. It will keep the lawyers happy knowing that you've at least supposedly read the entire thing," remarked Bob.

"Did I tell you how much I hate paperwork?" Gene sighed as he signed the document and proceeded to initial each page of section two. Eventually, he handed the papers and pen back to Bob who returned the signed and initialed papers to the striped folder from where they originated.

"Okay, I can now brief you on what this program is about," Bob said as he appeared to carefully compose what he wanted to say. "Do you remember the movie 'ET'?"

"Yeah, so what…" Gene interrupted himself. He recalled the boy Elliot and the alien extraterrestrial left behind on Earth. How Elliot found ET and tried hiding him from his mother and the authorities. Gene's eyes went wide with a combination of awe, concern, and fright before he voiced his question, whispering "You mean there are aliens here…among us?"

"No, no, no, no, no. There are no little green guys from outer space, well at least none that I'm aware of. However…what we are dealing with are creatures from eastern and western mythology, only they're not myths."

Gene had no idea what Bob was referring to. Mythological creatures? That could mean anything as he tried to recall any creature common to Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Indian or even Chinese mythology. "I can't think of any creatures that would be common to western and eastern mythology, Bob. What are you talking about?"

"Dragons," was Bob's one word reply.

Gene was somewhat dumbfounded by what he heard. "Dragons?"

"Yes…dragons." Bob then took another striped folder from the satchel, opening it and handed a sheaf of photographs to Gene.

"You're kidding?" Gene said as he held one photograph. It showed a red and orange dragon with two rows of long spines along its back, two hind legs and apparently used its wings for walking, similar to a fruit bat but this creature was much bigger. Its neck was long and sinuous while its large head was somewhat elongated, sporting two slender, dual horns on either side of its head; similar to an ibex. However, Gene was really surprised at the person present in the picture.

"That is Skelfa," Bob said as he took a corner of the photograph, pulling it slightly towards him to verify the picture. "This was taken about ten years ago on an aircraft carrier we loaned them for a couple of weeks."

Gene was stupefied. "What the hell do you mean by saying, 'we loaned them a carrier', what do you mean ten years ago, why does this creature have a name, and why are you standing next to it?"

Bob smiled. "Lance wanted to do something special for his then fiancé Roana and wanted everyone, including the dragons, to visit their ancestral lands. Lance contacted me at that time to call in a favor. It was a doozy but in the end I felt it was worth it. This creature as you call him is aptly named as it means 'terrify' but he has been my dear friend for all this time. I've learned how to communicate with them in their language with his help and I'm standing next to him to give people like you a way to gauge their size and demeanor."

Gene was shocked, constantly looking between the picture and Bob. He then tried to estimate the size of this dragon based on Bob's frame. The number he kept coming up was at least fifty feet in length.

Bob then handed him another picture showing an older couple, both impeccably dressed and wearing ceremonial sashes. "This is the King and Queen of Norway at the wedding of Lance and Roana." Standing next to the King was another large dragon; taller than the King and at least thirty feet in length. Light purple in color with a monochromatic white belly, its large head was surrounded by at least a dozen tusk-like spikes jutting back towards its body. It sported two large golden eyes on either side of its head and stood on two massive legs in a manner similar to a bird. The dragon standing next to the Queen was even stranger as it sported two heads. Green and yellow in coloration and similar eye color, each head had long teeth that appeared sharp enough to eviscerate. Its massive body was wider and lower than the purple dragon next to the King, at least thirty feet in length. The King appeared completely at ease standing next and placing his right hand on the hide of the dragon. The Queen appeared somewhat nervous in the photo.

"The dragon standing next to the King of Norway is Fjallit or 'Mountain'. She is a Deadly Nadder dragon elder who lived with the majority of the dragon population in caves located in New Berk. The Queen was gracious enough to befriend what is called a Hideous Zippleback. I found out later that the Queen had known about the dragons but did not encounter one until the day of the wedding. She was a little hesitant at first but soon became comfortable with this dragon as he was quite gracious introducing the Queen to other dragons at the wedding. Both the King and Queen were amazed every time the dragons bowed to them when they were introduced to the populace.

Bob then handed another picture to Gene who again was shocked by what he saw. "Son of a bitch!" Gene chuckled. "Isn't that NATO Supreme Commander General Thorndyke?" Gene let out a hearty laugh at seeing the incongruity. VIPs, royalty, generals; individuals subject to widespread publicity, scrutiny, and notoriety were nonchalantly surrounded by creatures not known to the outside world.

Standing next to General Thorndyke was a smaller dragon with brownish coloration. Gene figured its length at ten to fifteen feet and about the same height as the General. The teeth on this creature seemed not as sharp as the Zippleback but were just as intimidating. The General seemed to be truly pleased as he stood next to the dragon, placing his hand on its side.

"General Thorndyke really enjoyed his flight on the Gronckle. He had a chance to meet with her after the wedding ceremony. He arrived late and had to make apologies to everyone," Bob said as he gave Gene another photograph.

"Son of a bitch…Admiral John Andrews! I trained that little squid when he went to Annapolis!" Gene was completely delighted at seeing his former student riding a dragon similar to General Thorndyke.

"Well when that picture was taken, he was Captain with a new commission on the Forrestal," Bob added. "He had a blast that day, and he was able to parlay his initial acquaintance with Lance into contacts in the Norwegian Defence ministry and NATO. It took him places."

"It sure did, I would agree with you there!" Gene exclaimed as Bob handed him another picture.

"Is this a picture of the Chief and his family...I don't see any son in this picture, unless it's the baby?" The picture showed a man wearing a bright red tunic with a wide, white stripe running down the center of the tunic, complimented by white cuffs. Over the tunic, the man wore what appeared to be a bearskin cape with bronze badges the size of dinner plates adorning each shoulder with the whole effect held in place by a bronze chain. Next to him was a woman holding a small baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and wearing what was definitely a stunning wedding dress; white and sleeveless with a maroon sash. Rather than a veil and train, the woman wore a white cape over the dress closed with silver clasps and a chain.

Three black dragons flanked the human family.

Each dragon stood on four thick legs, their black leathery wings pulled close to their bodies. They were each the size of a horse but broad rather than tall in stature and sporting a large head surrounded with several pairs of large 'ear-like' frills. Their eyes were large and appeared to be very emotive, except for the one dragon standing to the right of the man. Its eyes appeared damaged and unfocused. The third dragon standing next to the dragon with the unfocused eyes was slightly smaller than the two that immediately flanked the humans.

"Spring is standing on the outside next to Substance, their Guardian of Memories. She is standing next to her companion, Doctor Lance Hyse who is with his wife Royal Norwegian Air Force Major Roana Hyse. She is holding their daughter, Hope. Next to Roana is her companion dragon, Great Guardian Rökkr."

Gene looked between Bob then back to the photograph, repeating the process several times before he spoke, "Now let me get this straight…you want me to train a dragon to be a part of the Royal Norwegian Naval Academy? Do I have this correct?

"Yes."

'Incredible, just incredible', Gene thought. 'What the hell am I getting myself into here?' This was not a country asking for assistance. This was something else entirely, literally a different animal. How to evaluate? What would be leadership material? What are their values? So many damn questions!

Gene also wanted to understand the reasons for this one creature's desire to place others at such great risk from discovery, persecution, and destruction. He recalled the classic mythical tales of western dragons slain by medieval knights such as Saint George the Dragon Slayer; conqueror knight of good over evil and the patron saint of England. Were those dragons killed by these people real?

This did not even take into account the dragons he saw in the photographs could have intelligence on a par with humans. Bob even said that one dragon taught him how to communicate in their language; 'their' language.

Gene was aware of studies to determine the abilities of great apes to communicate with humans through sign language. They were thought to have intelligence on a par with human toddlers. He also heard about scientific studies involving a female gorilla named Koko and the sign language she was being taught.

This was completely different.

The big thing was Gene didn't know where to start. Train a dragon? How?

There was something else that he had to get off his mind though, something that annoyed him greatly. Gene stared at Bob for the longest time. "I guess there's no way for me to back out of this, is there?"

Bob looked down at the table, somewhat crestfallen. "Well there is the Propranolol. We can set the dosage for a day if you need to back out of this."

Gene looked over to his friend. Knowing what he did up to this point, he understood the myriad ramifications. Even with the threat of imprisonment, this could be too shocking in so many ways.

"Why the hell did you get me involved in this anyway?" Gene asked defensively. "I mean, what you're serving here can be considered a one way ticket. I don't like one way tickets Bob." Gene said as he sat back in the chair, somewhat peeved as he now felt he was signed up for something with no clear way of backing out. It was one thing to retain classified information for life, as some programs do, but it was another to have conditions forced upon him.

He also liked to stay drug-free, especially from drugs he knew nothing about.

Bob looked at Gene somewhat chastened. "Yes," he sighed, "I understand that you may feel trapped by this situation and as I said there is a way out with the memory erasing drugs. I felt…knowing your past history in the military and the discipline ingrained in you, that this would not be an issue. I'm sorry if you feel this way and I can take any action you see fit."

"Bob, you keep forgetting that I'm retired. I don't have to take this crap anymore," Gene replied as he placed his hands squarely on the arms of the chair. "Let me ask you, what the hell do the Berkers do if they want to bring someone in?"

"They start with a background check of the individual, followed by surveillance and then potential contact. All of this is supervised and monitored by personnel within the Barony which supports Berk and Gerhard Corporation," Bob explained.

"So they have established protocols already?"

"Yes."

"Did you follow them here?"

Bob looked down before looking back at Gene, his cheeks turning beet red. "No, I did not personally follow protocols," Bob admitted to Gene. "I've known you for some twenty years, and we are the best of friends. I know the pain of loss that you've been going through and truly believed that this opportunity, and I do consider this an opportunity, is something you would immensely enjoy."

Gene looked directly at Bob, not uttering a word for the longest time. "Two things; one is that you should have briefed me on the memory drugs before you had me sign. You should have also asked if I had any medical condition that would be affected by the drug. The other thing is why the hell for the rush to get me into this program?"

"We have a very small time window in order to get everything in place prior to the start of the school year as I said yesterday. And as I said yesterday and believe still, you are the perfect fit for this job," Bob said forthrightly to Gene.

Gene thought about that for the longest time. He already made his decision. He just wasn't completely thrilled with some of the procedures. Plus, Bob needed to be taught a lesson.

"Does Spring know English?" Gene asked.

"Fluent in English, Bokmål, Old Norse and their own language, Dragon," Bob replied.

"Damn. So I won't have to learn a new language to swear then?" Gene asked with a smile.

Bob, somewhat relieved, returned the smile. "No, you won't need to. Listen, it's getting close to noon. Do you want some lunch before we continue?"

"Yeah, that's sounds good," Gene said as he handed the photographs back to Bob. Bob took the photographs and placed them back into their color coded folder. He returned all of the folders to the satchel, sealing it with the zipper before placing the tab inside the combination lock.

Bob got up, took the satchel and the remnants of both coffee cups in his left hand before walking to the door. The music stopped playing as soon as he unlocked the door.

The only thing left in the room was Gene and cigarette smoke. Gene got up as well, putting out the fire from his second cigarette in one of the ashtrays.

They both walked out of the office, together.

* * *

Author's note: I was intrigued to find out what type of security would be involved to maintain the secrecy of the dragons. I came across the special access program mentioned in Wikipedia from looking at their subject for security clearances. That particular clearance, I feel, was tailored for the situation described in this story.


	3. Chapter 3 - Oslo

This is for my wife **Ochie.**

* * *

Chapter 3 – Oslo

"Mr. Smith, would you like coffee with breakfast?"

Gene slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the higher light level in the first class cabin. He stretched out on the wide leather covered seat, removing the flannel blanket covering his legs and lower torso. "Yes, thank you. Black," Gene said as he sat up and adjusted his seat to a more upright position. "What are you serving?"

"We have poached eggs with smoked salmon garnished with capers and truffle. We also are serving quiche with asparagus, topped with Hollandaise sauce. Yogurt, croissants, a tray of cheeses, sliced fruit, and a selection of cereals are available," replied the petite and trim stewardess. "We also will be landing in Oslo in about ninety minutes around ten o'clock A.M."

Gene had a chance to see the flight attendant minding him for the first time in the light of the morning. The flight attendant that took care of him last night was now working the starboard side of the aircraft. She was a Nubian goddess. Dressed in a knee length lapis skirt, a white blouse and finished with a scarf bearing the double tulip logo of the airline, Gene was surprised how much she looked like Jill.

"Sir?" she asked Gene, somewhat annoyed that she was ogled by this older man.

"I'm sorry," Gene replied with an abashed smile as he looked at her amber eyes. He knew he was caught in the act. "I didn't mean to stare but I was just caught by how much you look like my wife from about twenty years ago. She passed away last year. If I may ask, what is your name?"

The flight attendant smiled at Gene. It was full of wisdom, sadness, and knowing. Whether that sadness was for Gene or something else, he was not willing to find out. It wasn't proper. "My name is Sabrina, Mister Smith."

"Well Sabrina…I'll have the poached eggs, and thank you," Gene replied as he straightened his grey pullover sweater and blue jeans. He replaced the slippers on his feet with the brown loafers he started the trip with. He now had a chance to mull over the talk he had with Bob from the previous day.

"So the dragons and humans have lived on New Berk for almost a thousand years."

"Yes," Bob replied.

"And the reason the Berkers are looking at 'coming out' is because of the changes in 'outside' society."

"What made the problem clear was the Soviet attack of New Berk about three months after Lance arrived," Bob answered while nodding his head. "They wanted him for his knowledge and involvement in various 'black' programs. With the help of NATO, Berk neutralized the Soviets but at a terrible cost. Almost half of the villagers and at least a hundred dragons were killed in either the initial attack or the counter attack. Substance lost her eyesight as a result of the bullets and the explosion after she got rid of the bomb."

"The Berkers realized they needed to be more open to outsiders if they were to survive, so they now allow NATO, US and Norwegian forces to billet on their island," Bob summarized for Gene some of the details of why Lance, Roana, the Guardians, and the Barony made this fateful decision. "The state funeral for Ran Jorgenson, a medical doctor killed helping Somali refugees, further stretched that need for openness." Bob continued.

"A Norwegian security team was supposed to provide protection for the medical personnel. They were ambushed and killed immediately but Ran was able to recover their weapons and return fire, keeping the bandits at bay but he was also wounded. Ran and the refugees were able to flee to the Kenyan border, bringing the bodies of the security team on pack elephants. Ran was killed before they all could cross the border into Kenya in a hail of gunfire as he held off the raiders, giving the refugees and the medical team enough time to reach safety. Ran's wife was able to persuade the Kenyan military, who Ran called by radio, to repel the insurgent attack and retrieve the body of Ran.

"The king and queen were extremely grateful that Ran was able to save the bodies of the fallen Norwegians as they were not supposed to be there. Ran's actions helped maintain the veil of secrecy of their involvement in assisting the refugees and for that act the king and queen wanted to honor Ran, but as you can image it created a dilemma for Lance and the Berk leadership. So Lance decided to 'come out' as the Chief of Berk, a long lost and secluded Viking enclave within Norway with evidence that he was a direct descendant of the founder of New Berk. That information was based on a transcript released to the press. The dragons, however, remain a secret to this day."

Bob then continued. "The main and only reason Berkers do this stems from their commitment to ensure the survival of the dragons. It is a truly noble cause in my opinion."

"Okay. So how do they plan on bringing the dragons out?" Gene asked. "ARE they bringing them out? Why now?

Bob thought about that for a moment. "NASA has established a protocol for first contact with extra-terrestrials. It was something that Lance also participated in and he is working to implement in concert with the Barony. As to your second question, there is no rush, but they are laying the ground work. As to your third question, it boils down to space. They're beginning to run out of space and need to consider finding other places to live. Baroness Jarldis Gerhard is fully supporting this effort and you may see some of that when you arrive in Oslo tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Damn you're moving fast, Bob," Gene chuckled.

"Well…I did mention we would have you on a flight if things went well…Well?" Bob asked, somewhat expectantly.

Gene smiled. "I am so glad I packed my toothbrush along with a spare pair of undies."

Bob chuckled. "Okay, I'll have your place taken care of in the interim."

"Fair enough…how about my car?"

"I'll have it garaged downstairs."

"What should I expect when I get there?

"Well, as far as I can tell, you'll interview with the baroness the afternoon you arrive. You may have some time to rest from the trip. If things go well, you'll have a meeting with the king and queen the following day. If they approve then you'll interview with Lance and Roana up at the training camp located near Bodø the following day. Rather than have all of the interviews on one day, they felt it was best to provide as much time for you to acclimate and allow them to discuss your fitness for the position."

"Interviews, huh?" Gene commented. "Well I guess that is expected considering how unique the situation is."

The doorbell rang as Bob stood up and unlocked the door to the conference room. Ed appeared, handing a plain folder to Bob.

"Here are your tickets, Dulles to Newark on United, then onto Oslo. The flight leaves at six thirty P.M. With a two hour lead time for security and check-in plus a thirty minute drive from here, we're looking at leaving here in thirty minutes," Bob said as he looked at his watch.

"Damn," Gene exclaimed. "No time to go to the men's room at this rate! Is there anything else that you want to tell me before I go on this little foray?"

"I'll make sure that there is someone to meet you at the airport. More than likely it'll be a representative from the Barony," Bob replied as he handed the tickets to Gene.

"Huh, first class? Nice…" Gene remarked.

"Compliments of the Barony," Bob added. "I was able to persuade them that if they wanted to have any candidate to be at their best, then first class allows the candidate to rest and be less stressed."

"Reasonable. Oh, I do have a bag packed in my car if you're planning to take me to Dulles," Gene said.

"Okay. I'll have Ed take care of it for you," Bob replied as he held out his hand. "Good luck…and have fun."

Gene smiled. Have fun. It was a long time since he was told that. Maybe he would take it to heart. He handed the keys to his house and car to Bob. "Take good care of 'em."

"Will do," Bob replied.

"Mister Smith?"

Gene refocused on where he was. "Yes?" He looked up at Sabrina.

"I have your breakfast ready. Please allow me to set your table." She was able to open the arm on the chair exposing the folding tray table, pulling it from its recess and opening it in front of Gene. She then placed white linen on top of the table before returning to the galley.

"Lance was able to reverse the decline in the health of the dragons, implementing changes to their diet and even getting them to take in vitamins and minerals. That one change has allowed for an increase of the overall population," Bob commented.

"So are they worried about having too many dragons on one island?" Gene asked.

"Actually two islands, but yes," Bob replied. "They need to expand but don't know how, considering their current circumstances. This appointment to the Norwegian Naval Academy may be a catalyst to that end."

Sabrina returned with a bone china plate filled with his breakfast and another plate for a croissant. Returning to the galley, she collected a mug filled with black coffee, a fine dark roast from what Gene could discern. This was followed by crystal salt and pepper shakers; cream and sugar set in bone china bowls; strawberry preserves were served in a small crystal bowl. The stewardess then returned with a wicker basket containing heated croissants. She presented Gene with a pair of tongs, allowing him to select bread from a basket.

"The dragons themselves live in a symbiotic relationship with the Berkers, improving the lives of each other. The dragons have through the centuries entrusted their survival to them," Bob said as he continued to show Gene some additional pictures.

"What do the Berkers get out of it? You mentioned that it is a symbiotic relationship, so how is it beneficial to both?"

Bob looked at Gene for some time before he answered. "For us…it is a chance to literally fly, to bond with a creature that is willing to defend your life. For the dragons, they are cared for by people that love them. This is not like a relationship with a pet such as a dog, or cat or horse. This is much deeper. The dragons are not only good at sensing how you are but I also believe they are telepathic. I haven't had a chance to verify that ability though to see how accurate it is, or what the range is. All I know is that Skelfa can anticipate my actions and that he seems able to interpret and understand what I visualize."

"You mean they can read minds?" Gene asked somewhat in awe.

"I believe so, but I never was able to quantify it. However, I have taken time to write down various words in a dictionary on their language so that we have a way of communicating with them."

As Gene continued to eat his breakfast, he could not help but recall that statement.

Dragons can read minds.

A sense of fear crept through his fingers as he thought about the implications of this ability. How would he be able to tell if his mind was being read? How could he keep his thoughts private? If they can tap into the minds of others, what is to keep them from cheating? This one ability could be why it might be best that they stay in hiding. It may make for a more ideal world, but too many people relish their privacy. So what to do in this situation? The only thing he could think of (now that he had the chance) was to make this ability unpalatable, at least during training.

As Gene finished his breakfast, savoring the aroma of the French roast coffee, he considered the implications of his idea. After all, he was the one who was to pass muster on the candidates, not the other way around.

"We will be landing in Oslo in approximately forty five minutes Mister Smith. Please allow me to clear your tray," the stewardess said in her professional tone.

"Thank you Sabrina," Gene replied as he folded his flannel blanket and placed it off to one side.

A chime sounded. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking. We will be arriving in Oslo in approximately forty five minutes. Please be sure to fill out the customs declaration form that the flight attendants will be handing to you. The weather is clear with the current temperature at fifty degrees Fahrenheit, ten degrees Celsius. Winds are out of the north at five miles per hour so we will be landing on runway six. We will be parking at gate eight and the ground personnel will guide you to the customs area after which you can then retrieve your luggage. Please contact our flight attendants if you have any questions regarding the immigration and declaration forms. That's all from the flight deck here, so I want to say thank you for flying on United."

The end of the announcement started the usual flurry of activity in preparation for arrival. Sabrina began to remove the remains of his breakfast and after all of the plates, mugs and silverware were retrieved, she removed the white linen from the top of the tray, folding it and restoring it to the recess in the arm of his chair. He glanced at the immigration form, it asked the usual questions; name, surname, residence address, country of origin, length of stay. Since Gene was here for an interview, he didn't really know how long he would be staying. He listed it as one week. He reviewed the rest of the forms, filling them out with the same information that seemingly every country and organization asks for. They were just formatted in different ways and since he was arriving from the U.S. he didn't have any items to declare. He placed the finished forms in his shirt pocket along with his passport, knowing that he would need them shortly.

The sun began to stream in from the windows on the port side of the Boeing 757 as the plane slowly banked to the right. The whine from the engines lowered, indicating the captain was pulling the throttles back to reduce engine speed. Sabrina continued her work, stowing the food and drink in the galley in the forward cabin.

"Mister Smith, do you have any questions on the immigration or declaration form?" she asked.

"No, I'm good," replied Gene.

The chime sounded again. "Flight attendants, prepare for arrival." An annunciator light above Gene lit, indicating he needed to fasten his seat belt as the other flight attendants began their final cabin preparations, walking the length of the plane to collect any trash. Extension of the flaps and the thump indicating the lowering of the landing gear meant their trip was almost complete as Gene looked out the window to see the highway connecting the airport to Oslo. The engines were throttled back completely as the pilot flared the plane before touchdown, pulling back on his controls to change its attitude. As soon as all the wheels were down, brakes were applied along with thrust reversers to slow the plane down to taxiing speed. The plane continued at its slowed pace for another ten minutes before arriving at their gate. Coming to a stop, the captain shut down the engines with their pitch continuing to lower in frequency. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Oslo, Norway here at Fornebu Airport; the local time is ten o'clock A.M."

The chime sounded again and the annunciator for the seat belts turned off, setting off a mad sprint by everyone behind Gene to grab their bags from the overhead bins, trying to get off the plane as quickly as possible. Sabrina released her seat belt, getting up and retrieving Gene's jacket and carry-on bag. "Thank you, Mister Smith, for flying with us today," she added as the door was opened to the jet way for gate eight.

"Thank you Sabrina, it was a pleasure," Gene replied as he collected his carry-on and walked off the plane and up the jet-way. As he passed the ticket kiosk an agent directed him to his left towards CUSTOMS. He briskly walked the length of the arrivals terminal and was the first through the crowd control stanchions, waiting to be called by the next border control agent.

A light came on over one table and Gene was beckoned by a gentleman wearing what appeared the uniform for immigration and customs. "Papers please," he asked as Gene handed over his passport and immigration form. "Mister Smith…are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Business," Gene replied.

"Do you have a residency form?" asked the agent.

"I have an interview this afternoon in Oslo. So however that turns out will result in the rest of the trip being for pleasure or I wind up getting the proper papers."

The agent looked up from his examination of the passport and immigration form. "Well good luck with your interview." He opened Gene's passport to a clean page and placed the book in a stamp machine. A loud thunk indicated the placement of an inked symbol in Gene's passport showing his arrival date in Norway as well as a symbol of a plane pointing towards the date. The agent repeated the operation with the immigration form, handing both documents back to Gene. "Welcome to Norway, Mister Smith."

Gene retrieved his papers, returning them to his shirt pocket, nodding gratefully to the customs agent. "Thank you." He picked up his carry-on bag and walked to baggage claim, looking back at the serpentine line and the hundred people now waiting for the next agent. He smiled, thankful that he didn't have to wait. Bob was right; first class did have its perks. Entering the baggage claim area, he saw bags already present on the belt and he was able to identify his luggage and remove them from the carousel, situating his bags so he could pull them behind him.

Another agent sat in front of a low table, wide enough to allow bags to be opened and examined. He motioned for Gene to place his bags on top of the table as he asked Gene for his papers. "Good morning sir. May I ask what you have in your bags?"

"Clothes and toiletries," Gene replied.

The agent looked at Gene and his bags, giving him a meticulous visual inspection. After what felt to be an uncomfortable period of time, the agent provided an answer, "Very good, sir. Have a good stay."

"Thanks," Gene replied as he pulled his bags off the table and situated himself to walk out the entrance. People would wait outside of the customs area; friends, relatives, husbands, wives, and business associates. Gene walked out and found what he expected, namely a sign;

MR. EUGENE SMITH

The sign was held by a gentleman of definite Scandinavian descent with close cropped blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore what appeared to be a chauffeur's outfit; black suit and tie with white shirt.

"I'm Gene Smith," Gene said as he approached the gentleman.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Oleg and I will be your driver today. If you would allow me to take your luggage we can be off to your hotel."

"Thank you, Oleg," Gene replied as he handed his luggage to the chauffeur. They walked out of the airport to a limousine parked in front, a black BMW 750. Gene had to stifle a laugh, reminded of what Bob said about the Gerhard Corporation just the previous day. Oleg opened the trunk of the car, placing Gene's luggage and carry-on in the trunk, closing the lid and then opening the door for Gene, allowing the former Marine to enter the car. After Oleg closed the passenger door, he went to the driver's door and got in, turning the ignition on the car after he closed the door. It started with a low rumble. 'Twelve cylinder engines always sound so refined', Gene thought. The car then motored out of the airport to Oslo, travelling on European Route E18 from Fornebu Airport.

"How was your trip, sir?" Oleg asked.

"Very good, Oleg. I even had a chance to get some shut-eye," Gene replied as he had a chance to close his eyes again, trying to grab some more rest to counteract the omnipresent jet lag.

"Excellent, sir. We should be in downtown in about fifteen minutes and you will be staying at the Radisson Blu Plaza Hotel. It is in walking distance to the Royal Palace, various embassies including the U.S. Embassy, and of course, the Oslo office for the Barony. There is also the Shopping Centre and various boutique stores in the area. Restaurants are also plentiful as well.

"I think I'll check in then grab a bite to eat. What time is the interview with the Baroness?" Gene asked.

"This afternoon at two o'clock," Oleg answered.

"Good," answered Gene. "Are you going to pick me up or should I walk?"

"Since you are not familiar with Oslo, I will spare you any grief and pick you up here at one thirty," Oleg assured.

"Fair enough," Gene replied.

"So what do you think of the dragons?" Oleg asked.

Gene stopped himself from answering. Why was this person asking him about something that was classified? There was no verification of clearances or need-to-know, just a flat out question. Gene was going to be careful, very careful.

"Excuse me? Did you say dragons?" Gene asked.

"Yes sir. Weren't you briefed?" Oleg exclaimed, somewhat confused.

"Uhhhh, only thing I was told was that I would be involved in training Berkers," Gene replied. "What's this about dragons?" His tone was one of curiosity. He knew how to play this game.

Oleg glanced at Gene through the rear-view mirror. "Well sir, anyone involved with the Barony has said they work with dragons. Your interview with Baroness Jarldis Gerhard for the nation of Berk means that you will be working with them."

"Uh huh," Gene confirmed. It was obvious to him he was being tested. "Have you seen these dragons?"

"Certainly," Oleg replied.

"What are they like?" Gene asked, again with complete (and innocent) curiosity.

Oleg glanced back at Gene from the rear view mirror. He smiled, "Well, if you weren't briefed then I really should not discuss this in any more detail." With that last statement, Oleg stopped talking.

Gene felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that if this was an initial test that he did not divulge any knowledge of what he was briefed by Bob. At least, that was his hope. It was also possible that the driver could report that Gene did NOT know anything about what he was getting into and divulge that as well. This was where the game was played, trying to figure out what the other party was attempting to accomplish.

The rest of the trip to the hotel passed in silence. Ten minutes later the BMW arrived at the hotel, with Oleg getting out of the car after bringing it to a stop. The Radisson Blu Hotel was located at Sonja Henies Plass, a brand new building opened a few years prior by the king himself. At thirty seven stories in height, it was the tallest building in Norway; a testament to glass and steel.

Oleg opened the trunk and pulled out Gene's luggage, giving the items to a bell-hop standing nearby. "Please take these items to check-in," Oleg asked the blonde haired youth.

"Yes sir," the youth replied.

Gene opened the door and got out; joining in the overall hectic activity in a hotel lobby by walking from the BMW to the Guest Check-in. Oleg and the bell-hop followed Gene, approaching a crisply dressed lady behind the counter. "Good Morning, sir. How may I help you?" she asked.

"Good Morning. I am here for an early check in," Gene said as he began to retrieve his passport.

"Very good, sir. May I have your name please?"

"Eugene Smith."

The attendant looked down at the television monitor embedded in the counter top, a keyboard conveniently placed in front as she began typing out Gene's name on the computer terminal. "Yes sir. We have you here at least until Friday," the attendant replied.

Gene looked over to Oleg. "It is policy to have the room available until the end of the week," Oleg answered to Gene's wordless query.

"Uh huh," was Gene's skeptical reply.

"If I may have your passport, sir, we can process all the necessary paperwork," the attendant said as she held out her hand for the blue jacketed booklet which Gene dutifully relinquished. "Do you wish a smoking or non-smoking room?"

"Smoking, please," Gene replied.

The attendant typed additional information into the keyboard. "Room ten fourteen is available, facing the Oslofjord," she said.

"That's fine."

A few more taps on the keyboard was followed with the attendant taking a plastic card and placing it into a device used to imprint the room number onto its magnetic strip. The attendant took the card and placed it inside an envelope after the machine was finished updating the card, ejecting it out of its slot.

"Here is your room key, sir. The elevators are located straight ahead and to the right. The International Tribune is also available every morning unless you wish to have the local paper," the attendant mentioned as she handed the envelope to Gene.

"No, the Tribune is okay," Gene replied.

"Very good, sir. The porter will take your bags up to your room. Thank you Mister Smith and have a pleasant day. Feel free to contact us if you have any requests," the attendant responded.

"Thank you." Gene took the information and looked over to Oleg. "So what's next?"

"Well sir, I will meet you here at one thirty for your appointment. It is eleven o'clock right now and you have some time to rest and prepare yourself," Oleg said.

Gene nodded in agreement. "Yep, I'll see you here then?"

"Yes sir," Oleg replied.

Gene stood in front of Oleg for a moment, looking at him, gauging, before he smiled and held out his hand. Oleg took it and gave Gene's hand a healthy and hearty shake. It was a strong, confident grip. Oleg returned the smile. "See you later," Oleg said as he walked back to the BMW.

Gene was still smiling as he returned to the hotel lobby. He was tired from the trip but he knew that he already had some success. The bell-hop was still waiting for Gene in front of the elevators. "I will meet you upstairs, sir," the young teen said as he worked to get Gene's bags in a comfortable position. Gene nodded to the youth as he took the elevator up to the tenth floor. Exiting the elevator, he looked at the panel that showed the location of the rooms. Ten fourteen was to the left as Gene walked in that direction, stopping in front of the door with the number 1014. Gene pulled the card out of its envelope and placed it in the slot located above the door handle. Pulling the card out of the slot caused a green light to appear on the door lock, allowing Gene to turn the door handle and open the door into the room.

The room was spacious and modern with a panoramic window allowing a view of the downtown and harbor. After passing the bathroom and closet, two queen beds were situated on the left wall, a large chest, work table and television on top of a cabinet finished off the usual configuration of the hotel room. The quality of the furniture and appointments though were first class. A knock at the door signified the arrival of the bell-hop as Gene opened the door, allowing the youth to deposit his luggage inside the door near the large chest. Gene pulled out his wallet and handed the bell-hop a twenty kroner note. "Thank you, sir," was the enthusiastic reply from the youth. "Oh, here is a copy of the 'International Tribune', today's edition."

"Thank you," was Gene's reply as he accepted the newspaper. The bell-hop closed the door on his way out. He looked at the headline on the paper.

_'Mikhail Gorbachev given boost in vote to preserve Soviet Union'_

Gene knew the breakup of the Soviet Union was inevitable; it was a question of how ugly it would be in the interim.

"Ivan…what the hell are you going to do?" Gene sighed as he invoked the name generically used to indicate Soviet intimidation and influence. Whether it was Berlin in 1948, Hungary in 1956, or Prague in 1968, it was clear the current attempts by Gorbachev and his_ Glasnost_ or 'openness' was creating an unstable superpower. With the liberation of Poland, East Germany, Romania, Czechoslovokia, and the breakup of Yugoslavia, Gorbachev refused to allow the Soviet Army to crush the independence movements.

Gene placed the paper down on the table as he looked out of the window into the harbor.

"Yep, it's gonna be a mess."


End file.
